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" Sfjall toe go see t\]z reltques of tl)is toinn? " 



TWELFTH Night, Act ill., Scene 3. 



^rtbatclg ^rinteU 

For the Fair for the Massachusetts Society for the 
Prevention of Cruelty to Children. 



JOHN WILSON AND SON. 

1880. 



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OLD BOSTON 



FOR YOUNG EYES. 



Boston, Dec. i, 1880. 

My dear Children: — 

I think it will intereft you to hear about 
Bofton in former days; and I fhall tell you not 
only what I myfelf remember but alfo what I 
have heard from ftill older perfons. 

Bofton was built on a peninfula, — which is a 
point of land not quite furrounded by water, 
but conne6ted with the mainland by a narrow 
neck. This neck is now fo built upon and en- 
larged by filling in the water on either fide that 
you could fcarcely difcover it, but on it was the 
road leading to Roxbury, which is now called 
Wafhington Street. You could fee the water 
on both fides of the road in my youth, — the 
ocean on one fide, and Charles River on the 
other. The Indians called this peninfula Shaw- 



t 

mut. The firfl white fettler was William Black- 
Hone, and he fold his claim to the whole land for 
£30, or $150. I have drawn for you a little map, 
which will give you fome idea of this pear-fhaped 
peninfula. There were three hills upon it, and it 
was fometimes called Trimountain. Thofe hills 
were Copps Hill, where ftill an old graveyard 
may be feen; Fort Hill, now almoft entirely 
levelled; and Beacon Hill. Copps Hill is 
almoft oppofite Charleftown. The remains of 
many fine houfes are here, for it was once a 
fafhionable part of the town. In Salem Street 
ftands Chrift Church, the oldeft church in Bofton, 
built in 1723. In the fteeple of this church the 
lanterns were hung to give warning to Paul 
Revere that the Britiih were about to march 
to Lexington and Concord. He was booted 
and fpurred, and immediately mounted his good 
Heed, and took the famous ride of which you 
have read, to roufe the country people and give 
warning of the approach of the troops. The 
town was fettled principally by Englifh people, 
and they called it from St. Botolph's town in 
Lincolnfhire. That got corrupted to Bofton, 
jull as in my youth they would call the name 
Crowninfhield, Groundfel. John Winthrop was 




Tac Se*\vW/'<i ^i .<vLtn^ Co ^Ji fre-zite^if**;-'-- 



5 

the firft governor of this new little colony. 
You will fee a ftatue of him in Court Street. 
The firft colonial governors lived in the 
Province Houfe. This was on Walhington 
Street, oppolite the Old South, far back from the 
ftreet, a balcony over the front door, from which 
proclamations were read, and two large oak-trees 
in front of it. Spacious ftables reached into 
School Street, and the name of Province Houfe 
Court is ftill retained there. King's Chapel alfo 
recalls colonial times, and the days when Court 
Street and State Street were Queen Street and 
King Street. Fanueil Hall (now altered) and 
the Old State Houfe and the Old South Church 
are all memorials of thofe days before the 
Revolution, — older than the memory of living 
people. 

On Beacon Hill, where the refervoir for 
water now ftands, there was a tall maft placed 
on crofs timbers with a ftone foundation. It was 
afcended by tree-nails, and fixty-five feet from 
the bafe there was a crane, from which an iron 
bafket was fufpended to receive a barrel of tar 
and tow. This was to be lighted to give notice 
to the furrounding country of an attack from the 
Indians, or an}^ danger to the little fettlement. 



In 1790, a monument of brick was erected on 
the fame fpot, an eagle with out-ftretched wings 
being on the top, in commemoration of the battle 
of Bunker Hill. It was lixty feet high, and you 
reached it by afcending the flight of fteps from 
Derne Street, juft as you fee in my little pi6lure. 
And here is Mr. Thurfl;on's houfe, too, on the 
top of the hill. In 181 1, this monument was 
taken down, and the hill levelled. The ftone 
panels on the fides are ftill to be feen in the State 
Houfe. On one fide you read this infcription: — 

AMERICANS ! 

WHILE FROM THIS EMINENCE SCENES OF 

LUXURIANT FERTILITY, 

OF FLOURISHING COMMERCE, AND THE ABODES OF 

SOCIAL HAPPINESS MEET YOUR VIEW, FORGET 

NOT THOSE WHO BY THEIR EXERTIONS 

HAVE SECURED TO YOU THESE 

BLESSINGS. 

The State Houfe was built in 1798, from plans 
of Mr. Charles Bulfinch. On the oppofite corner 
from the State Houfe, on Park Street, flood the 
Workhoufe, then a Poor-houfe and Bridewell, 
down to the Granary, which flood where Park 
Street Church now is. From Park Street to 



BE-ACO// HlLU' 
f^rom -Temple 'bC Dtrn^ JtJ". 

Trom a. dravx'ing 
/laidc in i8n. r. 




Somerfet Street, on the upper fide, was a row 
of large, fquare, detached houfes, with high fteps 
and gardens, far back from the llreet. Mr. D. 
D. Rogers's manfion was on the corner, and fo 
on till you came to the largeft and finefl ot 
all, Mr. Gardiner Greene's, with terraces, a lofty 
fummer-houfe, and fine grounds, coach-houfe, 
and gardens with high box borders. This 
was nearly where now is Pemberton Square. 
An Eaft India tree called the jingo-tree, tranf- 
planted from this garden, may flill be feen with 
its fan-fhaped leaves on the Beacon Street fide 
of the Common. Thefe large, fquare houfes 
were much alike; and the one which I fhow 
you in the pi6lure, though it flood in Salem, 
was a good example of the prevailing ftyle. 
Where the brick church in Somerfet Street 
now ftands was Mr. Caleb Loring's, a little 
raifed above the flreet, with a garden at the 
fide and back. Dire6lly oppofite King's Chapel, 
at the corner of Beacon and Tremont Streets, 
I remember Mr. Eliot's, fet back from the 
flreet, with a flagged walk leading to the door. 
Where the Revere Houfe now is was Mr. Boott's, 
and on the corner of Chardon Street, Mr. Jofeph 



8 



Coolidge's, with tall poplar trees in front, and 
next it, Rev. Francis Parkman's. Where Hovey's 
ftore now is, fifty years ago was Mr. S. P. Gard- 
ner's houfe, with gambrel roof and dormer win- 
dows, a paved court-yard in front, and a large gar- 
den producing delicious pears. Nearly oppolite 
was Mr. Pratt's, one of the fquare houfes again, 
with large rooms on each fide of the front door. 
On the corner of Bedford and Summer Streets 
flood the New South Church, on what was called 
the Church Green. This was taken down in 1868. 
Almoft oppofite was Mr. Sturgis's, and the houfe 
occupied by George Bancroft, the hiftorian, when 
he was Colle6tor of the Port of Bollon. Through 
the whole length of this ftreet were fine trees 
overarching the pavement. In Pearl Street 
there were many fine fquare houfes. In 1810, 
Park Street Church was built, and the owners 
of the large houfes above it. Dr. J. C. Warren, 
Mr. Arnold Welles, and others, ufed to con- 
gratulate themfelves on their unbroken view of 
the funfet over the water from the Common, — 
now, alas ! entirely gone. I well remember that 
where St. Paul's Church now ftands, on Tremont 
Street, there was an open fpace, with a high 



wooden fence around it, filled with large trees. 
It was lighted at night, and people went there 
to ftroll about, to fwing, and take refi-efhments. 
It was called the Wafhington Garden. Farther 
fouth, on Tremont Street, in the row of houfes 
called Colonnade Row, lived the Lawrences, 
Mafons, Reveres, and others. From the balcony 
of one of thefe houfes I faw the entrance of 
Lafayette into Bofton in 1824, and the old 
Frenchman Handing in his barouche, waving 
his hand and bowing to the multitude, who 
fhowered him with flowers. 

I was prefent at the laying of the corner-fl;one 
of the Bunker Hill Monument, in 1825. 
Lafayette fat among the veterans of the Revo- 
lution. Rev. Jofeph Thaxter (the chaplain of 
Prefcott's own regiment) opened the fervices 
with a tremulous and touching prayer. When 
Mr. Webflier rofe to addrefs the fea of faces on 
the open hilllide before him, you could think of 
nothing but Olympian Jove, fo noble and grand 
was his whole bearing, fo thrilling and exciting 
his words. You can read this brilliant fpeech 
in his works; but I can never forget having 
heard it. 



lO 



Since I have given you fome of my youthful 
experiences, you may Hke to know that the firft 
thing I diftindll}^ remember in my childhood is 
the funeral of Lav/rence. He was killed in a 
naval battle between the Shannon and Chefa- 
peake, in Salem harbor. The mournful pageant 
affedled me ftrongly, and has left an indelible 
imprellion. The tolling bells, the awe-ltruck 
people, the car with its gloomy trappings, the 
mourning for this national forrow, I can never 
forget. Sixty years after, I faw the monument 
erected to this hero in Trinity Church-yard, in 
New York. You may have read that he was 
mortally wounded early in the encounter, and 
his dying words as he was taken below were: 
" Don't give up the fhip." 

Now to return to the State Houfe. As you 
went down Beacon Street, the firft houfe that 
ftruck 3^our attention was the Hancock Houfe, 
built of ftone, far back from the ftreet, with lilac 
bufhes in front, and a balcony over the front door. 
A hall, built of wood, forty feet in length, was 
at the back, for grand occalions. My little pic- 
ture' will give you an idea of the front of the 
houfe. 




From Governor Hancock's houfe, on Beacon 
Street, as you defcend the hill, at the corner of 
Joy Street, far back from the ftreet, flood the Joy 
houfe, painted yellow, with terraces and high box 
borders leading up to it. The Harrifon Gray 
Otis houfe ftill remains unchanged, onl}^ it had a 
very large garden extending through to Chellnut 
Street, and a weeping willow could be feen 
on Cheftnut Street. This is now 45 Beacon 
Street. 

I thinli I muft give you young people a peep at 
the interior of fome of thefe houfes, and their 
ftately and gracious occupants. For where can 



12 



you now fee fuch courtly and lovely dames, and 
fuch noble and grand men, of what is called the 
old fchool ? They have come down to us in the 
portraits of Copley, Smibert, and Gilbert Stuart. 
There was much wealth and difplay. The rich 
brocade dreffes, the lilver and the glafs, the con- 
vex mirrors, and the carved fideboards are ftill 
our precious heirlooms. There was much eti- 
quette and decorum. I have heard from my 
mother that children were not allowed to tafte 
the water at table until they looked round and 
bowed, and faid, " Duty to papa and mamma, 
love to brothers and filters, refpe6ls to friends." 
What would you young people fay to this? I 
fear you would rather be thirfty. 

The ftyle of drefs was elegant. Gentlemen 
in full drefs wore fmall-clothes and lilk ftock- 
ings, a queue in their back hair (unlefs they 
wore a wig), and delicate, plaited linen-cambric 
ruffles for their fhirt front. Young ladies in 
fociety wore only fimple muflin. If they were fo 
rich as to have an India mull muflin, they often 
embroidered it with their own hands, and were 
fupremely rich if they could have a dotted 
muflin, — fometimes gold or filver dots. A 
tucker falling over the low neck, and a fimple 



13 

fafh completed their toilette. They often made 
their own flippers with a laft and awl and 
waxed ends. The mothers wore rich velvet or 
fatin. I well remember a purple velvet drefs 
with gold embroidery and a long train, a delicate 
golden turban, and a bird of paradife feather. 
A full fet of pearl ornaments, made up In clufl;ers 
or ftars, with conne6ling chains of pearls, worn 
on the low neck, completed the attire. At 
evening entertainments, fupper-tables were rare, 
but the refrefliments were paffed round to 
the guefhs on trays; the waiters dodging and 
twlfl;lng in and out among the company, with 
their glafles of lemonade or fangaree, and fome- 
times with empty plates, which you were ex- 
pected to hold till fomething came to put upon 
them. 

I mufl: defcrlbe two houfes to you which I 
thought very elegant. In one you entered a circu- 
lar hall, with a fl:atue of Hebe In the centre on a 
pedefl;al, and quite open to the roof, with circular 
galleries running round the three fhories. When 
lighted with wax candles (for gas had never been 
heard of), and hung with garlands of flowers for 
a ball. It was very beautiful. This houfe was on 
Beacon Street, built in conne6lIon with the one 



H 

t 

on the corner of Walnut, occupied by Mr. 

Homer. It was long called Cotton's Folly, and 
was finally taken down becaufe the glafs roof 
made it fo cold. Another, on Cheflnut Street, 
had a fuite of rooms which was very impofing 
to me. You entered an oval hall, furrounded 
with ilatues, and with bufts over the doors. 
Afcending the Itairs, you were announced; and 
found yourfelf in a drawing-room which occupied 
the whole front of the houfe, furnifhed with 
yellow and purple fatin hangings and chairs, and 
mirrors and candelabra, and a rich carpet with 
centre medallion ; opening from this, a mufic room, 
with fine oil paintings covering the walls entirely; 
then a boudoir, with yellow filk plaited from top 
to bottom (which I am told has again come in 
fafhion); mirrors and ftatues abounded; then a 
French chamber, a blue boudoir, and another 
room ftill, — in all, a feries of fix communicating 
rooms. Is there any thing more beautiful in 
thefe modern days? 

In many of thefe fine private houfes the rooms 
were large, lofty, and palatial, and fometimes 
hung with papers which have again come in 
fafhion, and are now called Morris papers. 
Many perfons kept their own coaches. Some 
were very gorgeous, painted yellow or fcarlet, 



IS 



with the coat of arms painted on the panels. 
I remember feeing a lady flep into one of 
thefe fine high equipages, dreffed in a brilliant 
green fatin pelilTe trimmed with ermine, and a 
white hat with nodding plumes, and it impreffed 
my youthful eye. The coachman, black and 
liveried, mounted on a high feat in front, with a 
fringed hammer cloth, and the footman (alfo 
liveried) affifting my lady, and then vaulting to 
his high perch at the back. 

The mode of travelling was quite unlike the 
prefent day, — ftage-coaches, and turnpike roads, 
which ran in a perfe6lly ftraight line from place 
to place. People often made journeys in their 
own carriages. It took four days with a good 
pair of horfes to reach Portland from Bofton. 
Firlt you went over Charleftown bridge and 
along the dreary, marfhy Salem turnpike. On 
one of thefe fwampy iflets I once faw a feal, 
which plunged into the water at our approach. 
Then you came to the half-way houfe, on a fmall 
ifland, with a ftunted tree or two; then on to the 
floating bridge at Lynn, where the water fplafhed 
through the cracks as you pafTed; then to a 
rough, rocky, wild country, reminding one of 
the Highlands of Scotland. In the outfkirts of 



i6 



Salem, under a hill, was a row of low negro 
huts, as though the colored people were unfit 
to live within the pale of civilization. The firft 
night was fpent at Ipfwich or Newburyport, the 
fecond at Portfmouth, the third at Kennebunk, 
and on the fourth you managed to reach Portland. 
I have an old journal defcribing one of thefe 
carriage journeys, and faying there was a good 
public houfe at Framingham, and it was an 
excellent place to pafs the night, — twenty miles 
from Bofton. As late as 183 1, I made a journey 
to Pittlburg, and you may fee how it was done 
by thefe extra6ts from my journal : — 

Extra6l from my journal as late as 183 1. 

Rofe at 5 A.M., Monday, and took the ftage for Provi- 
dence, where we arrived at 12 ; took the fteamer Wafh- 
ington, and after a very rough night reached New York 
at 10 next morning. A fteamer to S. Amboy, where we 
found a railroad. At New Brunfwick we took the ftage 
again, — nine coach-loads to Trenton, — then a fteam- 
boat to Philadelphia, which we reached at 7 Tuefday 
evening. Left Philadelphia at 5 a.m. in boat to Delaware 
City ; there took canal-boat, Thoufands of little dead 
fifh on the water, killed by copper ore. At Chefapeake 
City took fteamer Carrolton and arrived at Baltimore at 
6. Commenced our ftage journey 27th September. 
An accident had happened the previous day, and, as we 



17 



had the fame driver, we were befet with inquiries about 
it. The front ftraps broke, the ftage fell, and the hor fes 
ran and dragged the driver, but were flopped by fome 
travellers. One of the outfide paffengers had his leg 
broken. Spent the night at Gettyfburg. On leaving 
Chamberfburg began very flowly to afcend Cove Moun- 
tain. You conftantly pafs large and heavy wagons with 
fix horfes wearing bells on their necks, and droves of 
cattle, — 300 in each. They faid 50,000 head were 
driven on this road in a year. Rofe at 3, and were off 
again. Found one of the trees between the wheels was 
broken, and we could not proceed. Sent back for a 
ftage, and paffed the night on the wagoner's beds in a 
wretched houfe. We were five days croffmg the Allegha- 
nies. Our road lay near the river, — very rough and 
a very dark night. Soon it began to pour, with fliarp 
flafhes of lightning. Thofe near the windows were 
drenched, and at laft the rain began to come in at the 
top. The wind was fo high that they could not keep the 
lamps lighted. In the morning they had to bore holes 
through the bottom of the ftage to let out the water. 

Molt of the cotton cloth ufed in m}^ childhood 
was imported from the Eaft Indies or Europe. 
There were very few manufa6lories here. Flax 
was raifed in the country, and carded, fpun, 
and woven in private homes. Canvas for fails, 
and duck were made here in manufa6lories, as 
early as 1792. Wool was alfo made into cloth 
in looms at home. I had a plaid blanket 

3 



i8 



myfelf, of gray and white, made by the kind 
hands of a dear relative, who raifed the lambs, 
carded, fpun, and wove it herfelf from the undyed 
wool; and I have alfo both bed and table linen, 
made by her own hands. Our fnow-ftorms were 
very fevere. When there was a drift, the fnow 
would reach to the fecond-ftory windows, and an 
archway had to be dug from the front door to the 
ftreet. I remember Rev. John Pierpont being dug 
out in this way, and walking in full canonicals and 
a cloak to church, and giving the whole morning 
fervice to three worfhippers, but he wifely gave 
them notice that there would be no fecond fer- 
vice. Children were expe6led to go to church 
in proceffion behind their parents, in pairs, ac- 
cording to age, and no excufe or headache was 
allowed for non-attendance at both morning and 
afternoon fervices. But what a reverence and 
awe there was for the clergy in thofe days! A 
facred halo feemed to furround them. They 
were fcarcely human to our eyes. Though the 
minifter might roll his eyes round the church in 
prayer as though he counted the people, and 
though we knew the prayer by heart without un- 
derftanding a word of it, yet he flood there to tell 
us of holy things, and we adored him. When he 



19 

came home to dinner in cloak and fhovel-hat, 
and laid his white bands fmoothly in the big 
family Bible, we looked on with folemnity. 
When he took his glafs of grog before dinner 
(for the three decanters of old rum, brandy, and 
gin were on the fideboard for every gueft), 
and, after the bleffing, ate, drank, and talked like 
the reft, we only admired him the more, and 
wondered that one fmall head could carry all 
he knew. At a baptifm in the houfe, when he 
appeared in flowing robes and caflx)ck and bands 
and powdered wig, our veneration was un- 
bounded, and one fmall child was firm in her 

belief that it was not Dr. , but her 

Heavenly Father himfelf, who had honored them 
with his prefence in their home. 

The mode of lighting our rooms was peculiar. 
Tallow dip candles were often made at home, 
but the beft candles were imported. Oil was 
ufed in lamps, but even with great nicety in 
arranging them, one or two were fure to go out 
when you had guefl;s, filling the room with an 
odious fmell. Think of the change, — our rooms 
warmed by an invifible apparatus, and lighted 
by fimply turning a fcrew! 

Lucifer matches were unknown. Well-to-do 



20 



people always kept a tinder box, with flint, fteel, 
and punk to kindle a blaze. Wood was our 
only fuel. We had roufing fires in our fitting- 
rooms, which made the big brafs andirons glitter 
in the blaze ; but it was bitter cold in the 
corners of the room, and we ran fliivering from 
room to room, for furnaces were unknown. 
There were tiles around many of the fireplaces. 
All that I remember were in plain colors, bright- 
blue, brown, or black, with fcenes from flop's 
Fables, or from the Old Tefl;ament, or from 
Bewick's woodcuts. The iron backs behind the 
fire were often cafl; with figures upon them. At 
our own houfe we had a back with a flower pot 
filled with tulips cafl; upon it. I hear thefe are 
now in vogue again. The living-room of even 
wealthy people was ufually the dining-room alfo, 
becaufe it was well warmed. Firfl; a plate- 
warmer was brought in and placed before the 
fire, giving notice to the hungry children that one 
o'clock was drawing nigh. Then the waiter 
puflied afide the centre table, and fpread the 
crumb cloth, and arranged the table while all 
the family were fitting round. This was the 
day, too, when puddings were ferved before the 
meat. In the kitchen, in my day, the meat was 



21 



roalted on a jack. This was a long fpit put 
through the meat with a pan underneath, and 
fupported on irons at each end, while a long 
chain hung from a box near the ceiling, which 
was wound up like a clock and kept the fpit 
flowly turning round and round. Sometimes a 
little dog was put in a cage like a fquirrel cage, 
and fo he kept the meat turning, and if you have 
read about Whittington, you remember he was 
fet to turn the fpit, and afterward became Lord 
Mayor of London. Our bread was baked in 
large brick ovens near the fire, into which piles 
of wood were thruft until it was red-hot ; all 
fmall loaves were baked in a bake-kettle, over 
the fire, with live coals put on the cover. In 
the broad fireplace was a crane, from which 
hung the pots and kettles. 

Old family domeltics were not uncommon. 
One dear old man lived fifty years in my father's 
family, firft taking him to fchool in his arms, 
and then doing the fame thing for us, — the 
children. We always called him Uncle ; and 
it was my greateft delight at tea to fit in his 
lap and be fed with little fquare bits of bread 
which he cut with his jack-knife and put in 
his tea. He carried round in his wheelbarrow 



22 
* 

the turkeys and geefe which were always pro- 
vided in profulion at Thankfgiving for the poor 
people, and we loved to affifh in this diftribution. 
He was our gardener in his old age, and many 
were the good things he raifed ; — delicious large 
white raspberries and green-gages and long 
ftrings of immenfe currants. Then he planted 
dandelions, which were much more delicate than 
thofe gathered at the roadlide. He firfl in- 
troduced tomatoes, or love-apples, as they were 
called fixty years ago. He had a large afparagus 
bed raifed on a ftone coping, and around this he 
placed flakes at regular intervals, and a lattice- 
work of rope between, and the fruit was trained 
on this fence, and the leaves cut off to expofe the 
fruit to the fun on all fides. People came from 
far to fee them, and it was long before they knew 
how to cook them. Then he had an elegant 
multiflora rofe which was a great curiolity. It 
covered a fouthern brick wall, about twenty feet 
long, and was full of clufhers of its tiny rofes, — 
fome pale, fome bright-pink, and all very beauti- 
ful. Another favorite domeftic — one of the 
family, you might fay — was our faithful Hannah. 
She lived thirty years in our family. She was 
the moft fcraggy and homely woman I ever met; 



23 

but love fhone from her wrinkled face, and we 
called her our dear and beautiful Hannah, and 
ufed to put her thimble in the hollow between 
the neck bones and call it " Swallows' Cave." 
Where can we now find fuch faithful friends? 

One of the pleafant recolle6lions of my child- 
hood is the being permitted to put the finifh- 
ing touches to my grandfather's toilette. Firft a 
large full white apron was tied around his neck. 
Then I (mounted on a footftool) would carefully 
befmear the whole bare head, and the few fpare 
white locks over the ears and at the back of the 
neck, with a delicate coating of pomatum ; then 
with a powder-puff gently duft it over; then came 
the difficult procefs of making (with a corner of 
the apron) a fharp point dire6lly over the nofe, 
and curved evenly up on both fides ; then brufh 
the velvet collar (taking oflf apron) ; fee that the 
frilled fhirt was nicely arranged; look at the tie 
of the white neck-cloth; put the gold buckles on 
the knee-breeches (for he never had a pair of 
troufers), and look well after the large buckles 
on the low fhoes, that they were frefh and fhining; 
and, finally, bring the gold-headed cane, and put 
on the hat fo that it need not fpoil my work. A 
kifs would reward me for my pains and care. 



24 
t 

He was a phyfician, and many times I made 
bread pills for him to take to patients who mujl 
have fomething and needed nothing. His mode 
of fpeech was antiquated. He would introduce 

a grandchild, ^^ Mr. , this is my darter 

Sukey's darter Sukey." Every gueft partook of the 
grog on the lideboard always kept in the liquor 
ftand, and even the man who brought the wood 
was invited in for a glafs. He took his own toddy 
cold before dinner, and piping hot as a night-cap 
at 9 o'clock. Then he went up to his feather 
bed on a high-poft bedftead, hung with full cotton 
curtains printed with paftoral fcenes, and, efpe- 
cially, tall pink fhepherdelTes, which were the 
delight of my eyes. Stuart has preferved for us 
his ferene and noble countenance. 

Now we will turn to the pi6lure in the begin- 
ning of this letter, which I will defcribe to you. 
You fee that the Common is furrounded by a 
wooden fence, and that cows were kept upon it. 
A flory is told that Madam Hancock, having un- 
expe6ted company to breakfalt, fent her maids 
out to the Common to milk her cows. But 
in my day, a party of fchool-girls were re- 
turning on one of the cow paths from fchool, 
when they came upon a cow lying down. One 



25 

of the merry ones jumped on her back, when up 
rofe the cow and walked off, the girl clinging to 
her neck, wild with delight, amid the fliouts and 
laughter of her companions. Obferve the pump, 
which flands in the fame corner to this day, 
only now Cochituate water runs there. The 
river, you fee, comes quite up to Charles 
Street, where is now the Public Garden. A 
friend of mine fays he recollefts that at high 
tide the water often covered Charles Street, and 
came up to the foot of the hill on which the 
foldier's monument ftands, and he has often fkated 
there; and a lady tells me that fhe remembers 
fitting on that plank walk and fifhing for minnows 
there. The building you fee in the pidure was a 
gun-houfe. Look at the cannon on each fide, and 
the anchor and little gun-carriage on top, juft as 
they were. A company of foldiers called the Sea 
Fencibles kept their guns here, and boys ufed to 
fit on thofe (teps to fee them march out. A little 
lower down, nearer Boylfton Street, were rope- 
walks, and as you paffed on the plank fidewalk 
you could fee the men, with coils of hemp 
round their waifts, walking up and down, un- 
winding it to twift it into rope. The firft houfes 

4 



26 



built on the Mill-dam are thofe of ftone ftill 
Handing oppolite the Public Garden. 

You fee that Bofton had to grow as the years 
■went on, and the only way poffible was to make 
land, that is, refcue it from the water. So the 
Mill-dam was built, and a dry balin made, until 
— oh, marvellous change! Inftead of an ex- 
panfe of water from Charles Street quite out to 
Roxbury (for you fee Dr. Putnam's church in 
the diflance in the pi6ture), we have now the 
beautiful garden, and ftreet after llreet of fine 
houfes. Look at Commonwealth Avenue with 
the noble equeftrian ftatue of Waftiington looking 
down it, other llatues in the parks, and Trinity 
Church and the new Old South Church and the 
Art Mufeum, and all thofe fine buildings, where, 
within my own remembrance, there was only a 
ftretch of water. While thus the new-made 
portion of the city has changed, the eaflern part 
has changed no lefs; for from thirty to fifty years 
ago even Pearl Street, Franklin Street, and Sum- 
mer Street, and the ftreets adjoining them, were 
lined with handfome refidences. Thefe were 
gradually torn down to give place to ftores and 
warehoufes, which in turn were burned in the 
great fire of 1872. Now that there are fo many 



27 

fine new buildings there, the names of the llreets 
alone remain the fame. So 3'ou fee that during 
my life Bofton has undergone many changes. 

But I fear I may weary you if I tell you more 
of my reminifcences. Old people, you know, 
like to talk about old times ; and I hope that 
young people like to hear about them. 

Good-by, my dear children, 

Your loving Grandmamma. 



" We will revive thofe times, and in our memories 
Preferve and ftill keep trefti, like flowers in winter, 
Thofe happier daj's." 

Denhani's " SoPHY." 



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